


Skolas' Mixtape

by nukabrola



Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, [danny sexbang voice] mORE XENOGAY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 16:04:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4398350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nukabrola/pseuds/nukabrola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Variks reminisces and Petra gains some useful knowledge about her prey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skolas' Mixtape

**Author's Note:**

> on tumblr: http://manufacturedlight.tumblr.com/post/124579201969/skolas-mixtape

The flaps of Variks’ tent peeled back as the warden clambered inside, clawed feet battering against the ground. Grumbling, he turned the reserve heaters on and lit his oil lamps, stomping back and taking a seat at his meager little table. Blackouts happened every so often to make sure power was conserved for the prison and its arenas, along with the brigs and medbays. Not that it entirely bothered Variks, but too much cold made for stiff joints. Especially the metal ones.

He would have stayed outside, had Icarus not gone dark and the Vestian Outpost been ordered to cut the lights. He wished Petra warned him about these distractions; it gave him notice to begin his more…intimate projects.

The scribe shifted his cape to lay over the back of his chair, clawed fingers tapping against the faux wood of the scavenged together stand. He traced scores on the table’s surface. Long gouges left from accidental scrapes while repairing weapons, burn marks from a hot pan being placed on it, some water damage here and there. It felt quite cozy to him.

Leaning back in his chair, he stared up at the objects hanging in nets from the ceiling. Parts and supplies here, cores and clothing there, papers and….Variks squinted, frowning. He spied a chest, slipped out from a crack between a few crates, and scowled. How had _that_ gotten away from him? Standing, back cracking, he thomped over to the offending object.

The chest was heavy, metal, and scuffed around the edges. Variks used his two false hands to carry the thing over to his table, box slamming down on the slab like it had insulted him. Seating himself once more and throwing his cape over the back of the chair, Variks began a glaring contest with the chunk of plasteel. Nostalgia finally broke him down and he fiddled with the heavy iron clasp on the front, swinging the top of the crate open and cringing at the squeal the hinges gave.

His gaze softened into something a little fonder at the sight of the junk he had collected over the years. Stacks of holoscreens, a couple handfuls of data slugs–all neatly arranged, jewelry here and there, and…Variks stopped his rummaging, plucking a data chit from the rows. He turned the small rectangular drive in his hands, examining it thoroughly. His ears twitched and he set the object down, lacing the fingers of his primaries together and holding onto the arms of the chair with his secondaries. Four catwalks away, and he could hear Petra approaching.

The Emissary felt no need to mask her presence in a place she marked her own territory. She walked like a Kell. This, Variks respected. Respected, and, used to his advantage.

For now, however, he felt he had nothing to hide from the huntress. They worked in tandem and she had earned his trust. A meager amount, but enough to allow her to see… _this_ , though it was hardly incriminating. “Watch the staff.” Variks rumbled as Petra slipped through the tent flap. If he noticed her edging away from it, he didn’t say. She strode over to his table and stood across from him, hands on her hips, examining the items on the table. “I came to see if you were alright. I know you hate the blackouts.” Variks snorted, shaking his head and curling his spine. “I am much tougher than the cold of space.” He clicked deep in his throat, “This, you know.” She cracked a smile and sat on the edge of the table, sliding her knife out of her scabbard and flipping it in her hands.

“You have got to get a chair for me, Variks. I can’t keep sitting on your table.” Variks waved a secondary at her dismissively. “Much more important things than comfort, for now.” Petra rolled her eyes, but let the argument drop. If Variks didn’t want another chair, he wouldn’t have another chair. “So, what’s all this?” She questioned, pointing the pommel of her knife at the various items scattered on the plasteel slab. “That’s a lot of data, Variks. You’re not keeping things from me, are you?” She teased, setting her knife down. Variks sniffed.

“Merely…personal effects.” He replied, spinning the data slug that had caught his eye slowly. This seemed to peak Petra’s interest. She leaned forward and extended a hand, looking up at Variks, knowing better than to touch without permission. At his slight nod, she gingerly took a holoscreen and set it on the table, wiping the dust off of it and pressing the projector button. The both of them stared into the holographic pictures as Petra scrolled through them, memories from the warden’s time as a scribe. “I never pictured you as a sentimentalist.” The huntress commented, eyes growing hard at the captures depicting Eliksni children. The scribe leaned forward with a great heave of air, reaching out and brushing a claw against the face of one of the small fallen. “Sentimental, no. A scribe? Yes. My whole life, I record moments. Most of these are my work, from before the Whirlwind.” He clacked his claws against the wood, shutting the holoscreen off. “This, however…” Variks held up the data chit he had been examining, and held it up to the light. “Not part of House Judgement. A part of Variks.”

He set it back down and slid it towards Petra, leaning back in his chair. The huntress took it from the table and turned it in her hands, tracing her fingers over the small scratches engraved on the surface. At his silence, she poked him with her foot. “Well, what’s on it?” She prodded, thumbing the connector. Another one of those insectoid grumbles left Variks, and he scratched at the surface of the table absently. “You carry data equipment, yes? See for yourself.” Her eyebrows raised slightly, and she shrugged. “Well, if you insist.”

Variks plucked an age old bauble from the case, turning the sphere in his hands and tracing the ridges. He watched as Petra folded the connector into the port of her datapad, waiting for the sync. She tapped the screen here and there, frowning. “Audio files?” She cast a curious glance at Variks, confused, but he only waved her on. Her frown deepened. Petra turned her attention to the datapad, staring at the file designations like they might answer all her questions.

She tapped the screen once more, selecting the first audio file, sitting back and letting it play. Music filtered through the speakers, and Variks turned his head away. They sat in silence for a good while, letting the tunes carry through the warden’s tent. Eventually, Variks stood from his chair and paused the music, shaking his head. “From a long time passed. Best left forgotten. You’d like something to…drink?” A crackling in his throat followed the words, and Petra stood with him. “I’d love to stay for a drink.” Variks nodded, turned, and rummaged through the crates that acted as his cabinets, putting water to a boil. “These things take time, yes?” Petra hummed in agreement, and they returned to silence.

Variks pinched the tea leaves and dropped them into the water once the beaten kettle started hissing, Petra watching him closely. “Variks?” She asked, grabbing two ceramic cups for the both of them. He merely grunted and started pouring the tea. The huntress took this as assent. “Was all that music yours? Where did it come from?” The scribe stared down at the cups for a long time, before handing Petra her tea and gesturing for her to sit. “It is a long tale,” He started, “But one that I do not mind telling.” He set his cup down and plucked the data chit from her datapad. “You see, these scratches tell a story, but most of all, they give names.”

Variks sipped his tea, placing the slug down. “Those names are Skolas and Variks.”


End file.
